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Satish Verma, 20 march 2012
REVOLUTION
Riveted:
the ducks went into a howl.
A shirtless moon was walking
on the lake.
Darts had started moving
towards blue lips.
Gale was not able to speak.
Unthinkable:
sky will explode now, in stars.
Gambling with water, cheating
the fireflies
in dark bush.
Who was illegitimate on
the blanket?
The child was crying for the
lost coin.
King wanted the sun to hide behind the monolith;
his statue was being pulled down.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 10 may 2012
IMPOVERISHED
You asked for an explanation
for a flame. A bat
flies in a passage of pain.
A poem becomes an accuser.
They were drowning
the moon
in a lake of blood.
A poem sails like a kayak.
The snow was falling
like drifting lovers.
Stains were becoming bits of screams.
A poem delivers an echo.
The fear turns you blue
in midst of knocks.
Doors had the outrageous locks.
A poem walks like a truth
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 20 january 2013
THE MELTING
Not moving, the words
had gone into inertia. The space was shrinking.
Only restlessness was there in buoyancy
ready to distort the sound of depth.
I am expanding in propriety,
in meaning.
Pure burning on flame of truth,
like a moth.
Listen to the guilt,
the denial to the stasis of soul.
The loneliness brings the touch
of unlimited falls.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 3 december 2012
RENAISSANCE
Will you tell me what it was
the unknown of the known?
When you step into the eyes of stangers
you start talking without uttering a single word.
Give me back the body,
of dark pink matter
to understand the god’s will.
He was sitting in field of sugarcane.
The petrol burns with hate
in the necks of panthers.
Tiger, tiger I look at my son coming back
after encounter.
The bleeding revolution has overturned
tomorrow. No body knows where we are heading.
The babies flick like tender candles
inside the saints.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 19 june 2012
IRREPARABLE
It was lack of contusion.
The relief had not come. Hours
were on after the nobility moved
on faulted track.
Methane was rising.
It was white death:
people were coming, people were going.
Pure and muddy, the treachery was
like trace gases in a mine.
Anytime the explosion will take place.
The children were shrinking
I do not speak. Watch the flowerpots flying.
All the celestial deities have entered the lake.
Take a quick dip in the nude serenity.
Time was slipping out from the aquarium.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 february 2013
DOMAIN INVEIGHED
Cambium will cheat one day
the pace of climb,
snakes will dance
peeling off the skin –
the urgency of moon
to take away the body of victim
from sunscape.
You thrive on a window
switching off the sky.
A quaint reptile walks on the moon.
The medium sits on a black stone
and the mob
burns the house of a lord
Sarracenia, your lip is too large.
for a kiss of death. I am coming down the steps
to drink the acid
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 12 february 2013
VIRULENCE
scape without a name
scepter of a colossus
merge in a yellow boom
between hunch and a knife,
to keep shut the glassy lips
from red stares
a secret of an anonym
scripting sunset
the stacked neurotransmission
of millions of texts
with quietus
not to return back without the foe’s skull
a hollowness reverberates
while indifference talks
of moon’s lair
nor a dwindling shoulder–
and the tigers have disappeared
from sanctury
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 february 2013
TEMPTATION
After running for the flesh,
why did you make a home for the death?
Was it a reverence
for buying the peace?
Or fear of uncertainty
and suspense in the bosom of pain?
The panther was only thirsty, there was
no need to shoot him.
I will fight the war
on my own terms, in defence of liberation.
In moment of defeat, there
will be celebration of truth for homage to a truce.
Give me some reason to die.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 10 march 2012
Washed-Out
Slashing the surged monarchy
of celibates
stoking the fire of wounds,
the turret locks on to a target
taking off the gloves.
The mountain was rising.
A sheet of the floating ice
disturbs the ecology
of heart. I place my candle in storm.
The missils had failed.
Only the words were flying from
bare lips for entreaties.
Oversexed like a shoe-flower
O, mad enemy
I am pouring out the red sea.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 1 october 2012
IN ALONENESS
It was a thorn in flesh
before our fires met in midstream,
the waterplant had become untouchable.
I saw you lying
behind a thin veil,
like a prophet, in timeless agony.
The moon had left a wreath
for a failed worrior,
who could not move into the tunnel.
Entering the childhood again
to reap the sorrow
of a dry fountain.
Ah, in the eternal withdrawl
I come face to face
with my dying earth.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 14 march 2012
SOMETHING WILD
That fugitive dream
of shrinkage:
a room in a room
a door in a door.
You were hurting the house affairs
at midnight.
The space accident
starts dismanteling the life.
Selective pain
comes again.
You start distancing from story touch,
long vision.
The canary brings down
the roof. Somebody was leaving.
The eyes will search another sky,
another tree.
In a light slumber
another fall from the perch.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 27 june 2012
UNMADE FUTURE
A golden cave was afraid
Of a blue thrust.
Hands were not able to console
the mirror.
Let us step back for a
last laugh. You were talking
to yourself when the canary was
set free from the house arrest.
Ah, the paradise, after all, was
a myth. You had to beg for a violin
for democracy and stoop to pick
up a horsehair bow for playing the anthem.
You had cut your fingers in a fake war
with the moon.It was a miracle
knocking out the stars. A self-made
wound will never need the sutures.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 10 august 2013
GOLDEN LEAP
at cremation ground
the flames were creating
strange words
he stood still, in void, between unfenced tears
there was no need to question the answers,
kicking up the history, of crossing the bridge
over the river of annihilation
of self, making a gift of forked tongue
of cobra, spiteful, as an old virgin
it was over without thinking, scribbling
on the margin, his name in different inks
a young smell floats an funny rocks of
events and the fish swims in eyes of dead
foetus in womb, with unclenched fists
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 1 april 2014
THE DEBRIS
Give me the whole
of a fragment,
I am standing on a frozen lake
of inadequate compassion.
The totality of implications frightens.
Look deep in my eyes
you may find the plumage
of the green peacocks. They are gone.
Walk on the burning coals
to perceive actuality. Life slaps the illusion.
Debris falls from a shooting star,
overwhelming the clouds.
Rains will not come now for a while.
History heaps few glares
on the spinning darkness.
The theater runs for an empty house.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 10 october 2013
ARROGANCE
Sometimes it pours like hot
drips of melted wax from a candlestick;
your migraine.
I wanted armistice.
Untangle the lies,
I am not in your firing line.
The tulips in the barrel of your gun
cannot forgive the bullets.
There will be no ceremony after the funeral.
Give a slice of blue departure
of moon to light the beach,
there was a brutal murder on the lake
among the muffled waves of protest
in the home of insanes, who were
praying for the sun to return.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 december 2013
UNLOST EXISTENCE
When an embryo was growing in a petri dish
I said this is it my adieu
for I am now ready for a new journey of self denial
a skull in my lap
after the abdication of ancient fear
the eyes of buttercups poked with hot iron rods
a hoe breaking the neck of a bowed man
to humanize an ugly beast
my fragile hands make a cup to collect the light
of a fading sun to pour on the stillness
of the dream’s dark roaring
that’s how a pinned butterfly becomes
resigned for capitulation
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 september 2013
YIELDING
Time sets upon the arcane taboos
you wear the unknown fear
like cowries around your neck,
a bulletproof jacket did not work,
the fish in the brain
was the religion.
Whom do you trust now
in the caveful of seekers? They were demanding
every dropp of your blood from a waning relic.
Climbing Mt Everest was a raw deal,
dismantling the heights
like plasma, as naked as the ice on unmarked grave.
Hyper-sided, the priest was confused
in repetition of a prayer,
and the floor trembled in uplifting the god.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 13 may 2013
ONE SILVER BOWL
Will you save me
when I take the call of the lake?
The swishing depth was inviting me
for a plunge in the purple pool.
How deep was the pain of a mountain?
The domain was again ailing
with subtle rumors of
a massive landslide.
An escaped love of a thorn
was splittimg open the embrace
of me and my mask. Totally denuded,
a face was dusting off all the self-made
marks of inflictions.
Will you walk with me now
up to the stormy night, where I have
a house of candles keeping a vigil
for a coffin of unflowered seeds?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 15 april 2013
OF BURNING
From here to you
a legacy of dust was deepening.
I was reading a lot
between the dots.
You will get another master
I will get another pain.
In the maze of tunnels
a fear of fall snips.
A window becomes a man
unbuttoning the skin.
A body starts scratching
a secret.
The earthly sense warns
of a whiff of a stranger,
at the door in dark.
Like a ripe tear
I will not betray the eye -
in this grey hour.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 28 july 2013
FLAMES OF SONG
Tonight moon will write a poem
on my hand
about an almond love.
I find a breeze.
Nightmare: I was caught stealing words
from your lips, a lark
flies into death, paralyzed
by peace!
I will have the baby, I cried
at the insult to a rape
of truth, after the brawl
Pyramid was not made in a day.
Who slept in the arms of ambers?
Look, it was an atomic illusion of a guilt
of centuries. Time walks with bowed head
like a blind man.
Baked brown in heat of wars like
a salted pistachio, perched high on dry
grass, a swallow watches the rising
lake with no stones floating.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 20 november 2013
AGAINST DEPORTATION
Ahead of pain, we did not cry;
intimating of dreams, crowded;
stranded on issues, reaching nowhere.
Black, a weired hairdo, unfurls a moon
in half-sleep. You can open the door
without sound. The snake writhes under your feet.
A traveler waits for a hymn, holds a green
urn, full of tiny eyes, looks at sky and returns
the darkness for any possibility of light.
The missile whistles down; hushed, gnarled
fingers start the rescue efforts in a lonely
cosmos; goldilocks starts howling.
Terror strikes again in offering, so far
about nothingness; a vague, masked scapegoat
sits in bold greens, to start the beginning of end.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 20 august 2013
A LANTERN GUIDES
Cereus was in bloom in nightwashed
desert, sand was cool, it tipped off
the contour drain, a river sent its compliments.
If the death was at home, like an
estranged lover, will you open the door
in dusky stripes of morning?
Rubber was burning in afternoon rain.
An alert was sounded in curious lanes;
the shadow was lengthening its stay!
Standing on the burnt-out hull, I count
the shouts of the fathers on artifical limbs.
Bits of violence have broken the sea.
The seedless fruits descend on the glistening
coffin. A city walks with me without end.
There were roses, roses all the way.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 17 november 2013
BOUND BY CEILING
Sitting at the edge of a bubble
uncooled, trying to light an eternal flame of anonymity;
counter the wrangler, one skull in each hand,
of ancestors, you prepare for the crime of breaking
the umbilical cord.
Ostracized, you forge the ariel in arid zone,
burned, one patch on the eye, rubber thighs,
sniped at, lay still in a pool of blood,
in cauldron of terror, the brilliance of sun cracks
the marble statues.
Avarice of black boots mirrors the borewell;
washes out the color of smiles on blue lips.
Fireflies sink in darkness of punishment.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 14 february 2014
CROSSING
The body was arched in a denial mode
on the rose bed, unsettling human emotion
in the train of lots. A broken chain
of thoughts outranking the holiness of crime.
I am not getting the signals of fire, sparks
or flames. Only smoke on the mirror. It was
becoming a murder, discarding the clay, terracotta,
color in Indian summer. A sensuous dance
begins, on the mobiles. The portfolio contains the
numbers of streets for total annihilation so
the visual footprints will disappear. The mathematical
progress of genes halts. Million fingers will
write history of wailing waves, frightened
of hot winds.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 27 september 2013
THE RETREAT
The heritage. Storm of violence
in our chromosomes: perverts the senses.
Spooky fear of burnt houses, broken limbs,
utterly committing as witness of silent
unbuilding, as the future defies the
stunt of withdrawl.
Not for tomorrow, the mother weeps
for the exiled trespassers on dead sea.
Drowned corridor of sinking ship. The explosions,
feathers destroying the direction of winds.
Life picks up the rags of pride, of 'me'.
Terror waits on the lips of sorrow
like an obsessive maniac, ready to jump.
Some candle, bring me some light.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 20 december 2013
TIME’S BURDEN
I am not too well, he felt.
The flames chased him in charred landscape.
Fighting over, he pondered about the
crime within, the surge to find a nest hole.
A wounded pride where the salmonella hits.
You enter a slot for more enticements.
Any patch of vague tragedy among the barren
desirability, shares the accident with sacrifice.
Unhappy, you reverse the mode of retrieving
against the terms of swimming alone.
Where was the death’s arc to capture
the mistakes of life? Was an archaism
sufficient to kill the untruth? No implant
will enhance the height of achievement.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 29 march 2013
WHO WAS FAITHFUL?
That yellow moon haunts me again
and overleaps my sleep.
I do not dare to walk in the graves
of your eyes. The palace
has broken.
Mere suffering was not sufficient.
You have to wince with pain
for a crucified secret,
dying for a graced truth.
Snatch me a tear from
the blind eyes.My precious rags
will make a sacred thread to wrap
you on your arm.
The bruised innocence does not matter
now.You walk like a prince in every dark
page of history. Light follows the
sounds of body.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 30 september 2013
HALF-CLOSED LIDS
This nothingness was overwhelming.
When words fail to tell the facts,
only silence talks.
That brutal interrogation of self
to undo the decline, like a
a viper in your home.
The mortgaged glow of stoned infant
in the exiled land, brings
the exodus of shrunken legs.
A shadow survives on the debris
of frozen voices,
sluicing through the cries.
Open the stitches of night.
Death was skirting the prison.
No ropes. No ropes.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 26 march 2013
LIBERATION
When I flew into a storm
my words collided with thunder
and stars fell on ashes of dead.
I wanted to scream. Seeking a freeze
on past.Future was stretching its arms.
A calling.Erratic explosions?
The ruins were becoming worthy
of worship.Hunger exudes the trapped
smell. You light an earthen lamp for
split masks, the face will never be known.
Only there were two concrete eyes
darting without thoughts, telling without sound.
There is no water, only million suns.
tish Verma
Satish Verma, 17 march 2013
TEASING
Tonight
when I come back
clad in wounded memories,
one seed deep
the pod would lie in the forest of hands,
I will wake you up in between
the kisses of moon.
The hawthorn lamps –
let me light the last unlit
of empty night, for a farewell
to a black rose, who had collected
the unpraised thorns.
The fugitive wind shuts the smart tears.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 october 2013
DEATH'S WINGS
Tryst with enemy
bakes the earth.
I am standing firm on dust of times
with rising threat. In vloaks, under the fading
moon they had come,
plundered my yard of truth and blackened
the face of an ancient statue of sun god.
The terror walks on streets
sequencing the genome of unborns
in womb; soot was settling in the lungs
of windows. Tomorrow night word by word
memory will be mauled, uncovering
the pyramids of fear.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 22 march 2013
MOLTEN ANGER
And, it tore through dumb claim;
the fakes had commingled with
the truth. Nowhere my soul
found peace.
One by one shadows were losing
their skeletons. The tarnished face
was forced to recant its nose
and shrank into hole.
Blood grievously turned grey
and skin tanned blue in fierce withdrawl.
He tracked naked in squall
of abuse leaving the eyes for blind rubbers
and bald wolves.Legs tweet, the child
is coming back home.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 12 january 2021
Losing Oneself
What would you give
when I ask for nothing?
A mysterious lineage
of the soul. It has no sequence,
no flesh, no body.
I was heading towards the edge.
Did you know the perfect
no home? It has no crumbling walls,
no hurting windows. The gray roof of sky?
The earth, the damaging
winds. An hour of awareness
in wait. You start
exploring jinxed mind,
hearing voices, but no words.
Satish Verma, 30 january 2020
With No Apology
On the mount
a broad-leaved tree was preparing
for self destruction.
It was too cold
under the sun.
A small Christmas tree
with its needle leaves
waits for the snow,
to draw a self-potrait
in bitter winter.
Snow fall makes it
gold, when rain comes
and my hand knives the moon.
Satish Verma, 29 january 2020
Phenomenal Defeat
A wine taster was
ready to begin the birth
of night.
A wrinkle displays
the absurd mediocrity
of the charter.
I will not play
in the hands of unknowable
I have my own map.
I am shedding,
my skin, my color. Only
a truncated god will speak for me.
Satish Verma, 27 january 2020
Émigré
It was not mental,
when you said, ―
in solstice, the body
and the physics of ashes become
one, the duality is lost
and indentation removed.
This fall it was a freak
weather. The tangerines are
covered with accusing ice. The
insomnia has set in the trees.
No body was sleeping
in gray.
Do not forget the prayer.
Retroactivily you can be pardoned.
Satish Verma, 25 january 2020
Winter Night
It was never meant,
to be the triumph
of the death
in the night of the snowfall.
The silent fall of flakes,
covering the stains,
would start a conversation
about the truth of life.
A journey to unknow the evil starts.
Satish Verma, 15 may 2020
Staircases
Why the pink words
float in black eyes?
I swear, I will not look
at the moon again.
The city burns in snow.
A jump of small
legs, takes you far
from the roar of falls.
The blackbird was my
mascot, sitting on the white
birch, dreaming blue.
A white sheet covers the
shrieking nails. You
cannot walk barefoot
on smouldering candles.
Why again you are climbing
the volcanos?
Satish Verma, 6 january 2020
Night Spots
Tonight the moon will sit
on the gazobe,
to have a look at the sea, rising.
*
On the night's shade
dewdrops will wait, till
morning glory blooms.
*
It was a long night.
My lamp starts to flicker.
I hurry up to finish my poem.
Satish Verma, 8 january 2020
Fractured
Blunt and bold were
the wet spots.
You bleed like me.
The seizure takes hold
of millions thoughts.
My sins are walking with me.
No annihilation of
the flesh. I was meeting
the spirits.
The face becomes pure
gold, when you
start burning the issues.
The years had survived
in slumber.
Death will not come to the hanged man.
Satish Verma, 21 june 2020
Brilliant Stroke
Unstable like a mercury
drop, when you hold
a pen, hiding your
icy thoughts.
Like an archer, ready
to abandon the bow, without
shooting at the target.
The bull's eye was a
blue rose, sitting in the dark
niche, afraid of light.
In synesthesia, of
nights assault, you fume
and sizzle, when the dew
drops hit you.
You will not give the name
of slayer, who killed you with a smile.
Satish Verma, 31 january 2020
Song Of Promotion
I am not going to touch
the meaning―
of nativity for unknown
guests.
A cameo appearance of some
god, does not take away the
most recent fears
of death.
The ghosts have their own
defences against scars,
bruises and unstitched
bones.
Give me a piece of unleashed
poem, my odyssey
has begun in
earnest.
Satish Verma, 19 february 2020
Watching The Lethality
I
The blend of gene and name.
How you carry the
legacy?
II
We are losing the war.
You are winning
the birds.
III
The sparrows have left
the nest of man,
in search of moving homes.
IV
How do you spell the ruins?
I have never seen
a perfect shape.
V
Chicken-livered.
Why did you try to
confront the wall?
Satish Verma, 31 august 2020
Compressed Emotions
I had met the flower
after a longtime.
The rose.
And its fragrance
hauls me to childhood
after the big dying.
A tender, scented dream
will touch me,
to become a poet.
Lying on dewed grass
you think, a promiscuous
microbial libido begins.
The explosion will eject
free verses, waiting in silence-
to witness- the April fall.
Satish Verma, 20 february 2020
Show Me Your Jewel Box
Not reaching somewhere,
I was not today,
what I was.
You seek a hand
for a handshake, and I watch
the dirt gathering
on the nails.
Sky does not give you
an award.The soot
collects on the windows.
The blue skulls dance
to defy the earth.No forehead
was formed.How would you
read the destiny?
I swear, I did not fathered
the deity in a-
monotheist gathering.
A black hijab covers
the moon.
Satish Verma, 11 july 2021
Facts Of Life
The decay has―
killed the dream songs,
of shut mouths.
Trees were rolling
down on beach
when hurricane collapsed.
It was raining,
carbs and limbs, when
clouds gathered.
You love the
potholes, underground
caves, to hide cardinal sins.
Satish Verma, 4 may 2021
What You Were
Cessation had no direct threats.
You had stopped thinking.
A shadowy future starts hating
you and your financial motives.
The September light falls on leaves
ready to go, yellow-brown-red.
You are still warm, still receptive
of the hollyhocks to welcome you.
A guiltless flight with singing birds―
homing to their mating abodes.
You want to arrive
without qualms, without fainting.
Satish Verma, 2 july 2021
Three Vistas
Do not count.
Do not return my poems―
written for you,
in memory of hot pink
flamingoes, that had not returned
to their abodes.
Flashbacks. Fear of colors
arises. You shut your eyes.
Idolatry soaring. Night
will ask the stars. Why am I
carrying the burden of a rock
on my shoulders?
Moon laughs.
You stay quiet,
will not commit any kill.
A train whistles by. Evening
plays a thief, stealing your demeanor.
Inside you burn. No smoke was
coming out. No reference―
to smiles and tears.
Satish Verma, 5 august 2021
Pangs Of Truth
There was nothing to hide.
No jewels, no gold. I
wanted, to get the replica of afterlife.
Meet me in some moonless night.
I will show you a slice
of my bruises, offering it as
my panacea.
You were hurting yourself
invoking the baby god
on the night of lights.
It was hallucinating,
stabbing yourself in a
virtual suicide.
As the last rites started,
you got up from the funeral pyre
and walked away.
Satish Verma, 1 august 2021
The Hidden Sky
In my sanctum,
you walk in― like
my first child, to join
my innerness.
Trying to decipher―
the moral code of angels.
I just wanted an embrace
of a flame to kiss the sparks.
I hear your footsteps,
sometimes near, sometimes far away―
in the valley of burning tears.
This space and, a gouge hold the
secret of melting lips.
Still unborn, a voice in
cul-de-sac, waits for the grievers
to open the darkness―
for a ray of light. It was very
lonely where you had scripted the clouds.
Satish Verma, 29 january 2017
Watching Our Warts
Sloping down in gold pursuit
of a bruised city,
sons of nameless fathers
were changing the generic mandate.
I am becoming fluvial
going on a muted odyssey
to find unmarked graves.
Slaughtering
your own lines, in praise of end-
which came very soon;
before the windows altered the moon.
Genes spilled on the road
recalling the wounded
son whose lexicon took him
to war with the meanings.
Satish Verma, 9 december 2016
Somalia Calling
I met a talking moon
on the road of death.
What easily comes, goes easily with winds.
I was counting the ribs of
my dying child. He went into the
woods to fight the unknown wars
of hunger.
Bunker: it went into flames
sailing into brilliance of space.
I am going to inherit the black grains
of molten day. How I will confront
the night tainted with bonfires
of sunken eyes?
God particles in tiny fists spreading
the spun cotton, intitating a
revolution of thoughts. A bumpy
argument. The icon denies the guilt
of mass killing. I want
to remain unsung.
Satish Verma, 29 october 2016
Unphrasing
in love with vermilion
floating on optics
you learn in moments of insult
or insults in moment of learning
fishless bones
still he smels of withering pain
on black satin
you don’t want to suffer
with asterisks
annotation
disfigurs the essence
i will boil the moon
to find the separateness
between scent and grief
i am done
the poem is over
death has walked away
Satish Verma, 31 march 2022
Sage Flower
O my baby pain―
this house is on fire.
My body is going to war.
A lonely path, in life
and death― where does it
lead to― in wilderness of home?
The mob only loots.
Lynches and hangs you from
the lone tree of love.
I confess, there was
a chink in my armor, not
light but water seeps through it.
You start fearing the
windows. Not noises, time
was slipping pout, never to come back.
Satish Verma, 5 february 2023
Living With Grace
Didn't agree to
sell the dream, for afterlife.
There was dread of
crossing the graves.
Moon intends to
come one step closer, to
find your candor. The innards
wouldn't take off the veil.
There was no iconic
shadow. Hope was fading.
Time to confront the unexpected
assault. Light enters from a crack.
What could be a
second coming of realization
on week legs, in twilight
of disturbing truths?
I am holding the mirror
at a distance.
Satish Verma, 11 may 2022
Repealing The Command
Like sheltered, as in fist,
the firefly―
my poem shudders
in your cavernous eyes.
You will not bend down,
to pick up the dropped
coin of moon.
A benign lump
refuses to melt for a
speckled beam of light.
The charred bones
of the burnt-out church,
wait for the second coming.
There was no
curtain drop. Everything
will happen before the weeping grass.
The father and son,
were both guilty― of killing
the mother moth.
Satish Verma, 12 may 2022
Weird Dreams
Will ask hibiscus―
in twilight, to let moth
live its one night.
*
The bougainvillea
leaves, falling one by one,
always frighten you.
*
Bends like a bow,
the sickle moon, to pick up
its child in water.
Satish Verma, 27 september 2022
Listening To Sky
Keeping the end at bay,
spurning advances in dark,
going for a witch-hunt.
*
For the truth. The man and
the beast were one. You will not cry
for the sake of progeny.
*
The swift fall of pen
breaks the barriers. There was no
one to read the scriptures.
Satish Verma, 26 september 2022
In The Spin
To save the last bruise,
after an encounter with
a kiss of the breaking rock and melting voices.
I did not want to
remember you in twilight
of dementia. There was no birthday for me.
A brown girl drowns
in my deep poems. You had become
a river without a bed.
Can you give me a
name― for my unborn child?
I loved him to measure you my mate.
After all I refuse
to die inspite of all the falls.
Beyond the bricks lies my blessings.
It were only you.
Satish Verma, 23 september 2022
Defying Time
Sitting before the white
screen, thinking―
what to write today.
Suddenly you will appear to
take a sweet revenge.
Proding the sensitivity,
you will not utter a single word.
I will start burning my―
paper boats on the banks of brows.
River dried, no water was
flowing from the dams of eyes.
Only the moon was watching me.
Tomorrow you will find a―
washed out body in dew of a
poem, half buried in red sands.
It still becomes relevant.
You pick up the remains of a saga
make a shrine of the god anonymous.
Satish Verma, 11 september 2022
Nobody is Safe From Fire
Not easy to write off life.
Let me go whole. Was it a striptease
of knowledge? Where are the saints?
My averted pains boil.
We are so small. Wingless. It is time to
pray. Is it a Tiananmen moment?
I got nothing in paying
the debt. But I come at par with the
god. I am going to live in a barn.
Satish Verma, 25 september 2015
When You Peel The Moon
Turgid freedom of nondescript
energy moves on the
secret circuits of nude gods.
Thy body politic breaks into splinters of million thoughts.
When the dusty winds
settle on our faces, it is a holy bath.
The neutral sky perceives it,
lapses into silence.
Poor vision of builders,
carries an abstract frame for the silver screen.
We peer in dark
to find the blasts,
culture of giant legs was the essence of truth
descends deep in crevices.
The technique brings the broken images.
In your mind lies the whole history of a tree.
You don’t remember.
When you peel the moon,
your tongue falters.
Of several centuries
the grief stricken bird recites a poem.
Come beside me,
I will tell you the name.
Satish Verma, 8 november 2015
Afraid Of Unknown
A patch on my shirt
was growing.
I could not, because I did not
want to remove it.
I took everything, without choosing,
a flag of my territory fluttered
without wind.
Like a marooned kiss on fainted lips
cryless eyes.
The body fails, climacteric defeat evident.
A satellite crashes in midsky.
A star in waste was rising.
Multiple setbacks start,
like the botched transplant.
Thieves were active in dark alleys.
Kicked at slump bodies, like
sleeping on road.
I was always afraid of unknown.
Satish Verma, 13 october 2015
Comparision
Alone with an untouched,
untainted voice in me
I blunder into a rarefied
mist of thoughts,
listening, holding my breath.
A pause amidst thunders of vocabulary.
Gratefully the end comes
liberating the sap from earth.
Intense pain isolates you
from the drama of life.
Maimed by three dimensional
negativity you walk straight
inhaling the scent of death row.
The tapestry of pain outlines the path.
Your shoulders are broad with pride.
Nostalgia of a blooming tree.
Grateful to summer
gives you the aloneness.
Like stars we are sailing
in our separateness.
The perfumed gathering tenders no apology.
I always detested the comparison of heights.
Satish Verma, 9 june 2015
Falling Seed
This world was too much.
in him.
Sometimes he wanted
to go insane.
(He was talking to himself).
He cared too much
of things and people around him,
but it splits
like a dry pod, the life,
in throes of running
to save a falling seed.
Yields his whole earned silence,
starts turning the pages
of a soiled book
lost in the attic of grief.
Satish Verma, 11 august 2015
Benediction
How sad you had been
without wholeness for the,
price of having broken shoulders?
The people were shedding their skins
to wear new masks.
I was haunted in my sleep.
Sun was not rising.
House to house from face to face,
death makes a pause.
Time sits for a while, when
we mourn in silence.
A scream halts in our throats.
In the courtyard a pungent smell spreads.
Atrophied limbs tremble.
The elegance foresakes the human touch.
The river dries up,
sucked in by laments of earth.
The unfolding of wounds
festers on cheeks.
Lips sluicing the grief,
spill benediction!
Satish Verma, 16 june 2015
Retrieve The Moon
He did not depart
or reached anywhere,
and did not realize himself.
When words could not find the meaning,
where the man will go?
He thought he did not believe in ‘why’,
the limits of purpose,
dictating the sentence.
Stones were still floating on the sea
and he was standing on a shipwreck.
Thinking and unthinking do not solve the mystery
of human turnings,
the malignancy of artificial intelligence.
A rebirth of enlightment can take over?
The objectivity becomes the subject.
You trot on the grass
to retrieve the moon,
fallen midnight.
Satish Verma, 8 october 2015
Aparthied
Offspring were preoccupied in their spiral career,
you feel sorry. You don’t get the sleep,
core-feelings flee from
the windows of an ailing house.
A cloud softens again in the eyes.
Wronged truth has created
an aparthied in ranks of candles.
Inner pain gropes towards
the spot between eyes.
You survive by the
whispers of absolute bliss.
Looking becomes a sequential text.
The self divides the darkness into hot flames.
Outpouring the anguish, the frailities.
At dawn the blackness
of dripping night fades.
The earth wins the moral nothingness,
beyond the regrets of inspired sermons.
The psyche is rooted
deep in the mud, topless
dust spreading the
message of preferred truce.
Satish Verma, 25 june 2015
Second-Hand Event
Movement spurts the truth-
an endless journey.
The constant search for beliefs creates confusion.
Craving and wanting
generates more conflicts.
The meaningless life drifts.
Can you go beyond your dreams,
beyond your yearnings?
I wanted to disagree with death
the ultimate truth.
Life had many connotations,
there was no deliverance from reflections.
No freedom from trepidation
ego was the last refuge.
The ending of self
did’t take you to liberation.
Urremitting flow of time
awakens your soul.
Stillness of thoughts opens
the muted doors of meditation.
It suddenly transports you to the otherness.
You are not your name.
The indulgence to self
becomes a second-hand event.
Satish Verma, 17 november 2015
Wailing Windows
Face of terror was
chasing you in the dreams and
voilence made you sick of the
evil designs.
We must unpack our grief.
Hurts were huddled under the smiles;
times were stypefying.
I grieve for the dead
prophet, spread – eagled on road.
It had been a memorial death
fighting the ugly machinations
the days had planted.
A calculated murder of mighty truth
had taken place.
Again a flaming head
seeks revenge
violence does not cease.
The greed was the essence.
The town was full of howling.
There was civil war amongst
the wailing windows.
My heart aches,
I did’t belong to this
profile of naked wolves.
Satish Verma, 6 november 2015
Passage To Unknown
At cultural opening of thin
layers of faith & consciousness,
a new breed of angels was
romping on our souls.
I suffered again for tiny spaces
between the thoughts.
Death cannot be intrusive.
It waits at the door of light.
The show will start when truth dies.
I go again for the reality of anticlimax,
the anxiety of endless flights into fantasies,
the hallucinations of falling trees.
Give me some space to pedal
the silken smoke of dark truths.
There was fire in my heart
and eternal burning
of a lake. I cared for tears,
the eerie memories.
The age-old pain of seeking
the liberation from twisted symbols,
simple measures of
finding a passage to unknown.
Satish Verma, 14 december 2015
Smile Becoming Larger
Being was my forte,
where the words speak no more
a lifetime of black stillness,
the sunflowers sleeping.
The controller and the enquiry
freeze the ozone.
I repent again for all the sins of eloquence,
the rustling of leaves.
Take care of mood,
hoarseness and slippery speech
there is no room for pain.
A whole tribe of thoughts
scatters the lines to avoid
becoming, featureless and nameless.
Boulders are falling on feathers.
I am leaning towards eerie winds.
The other side of the door
was misty. The kiss of fire.
Mind wanders aimlessly.
The destiny breaks the steps
of sleepwalkers. They are falling in dark,
towards dark. A moon rides the clouds,
its smile becoming larger & larger.
Satish Verma, 26 april 2016
Valley Of Tears
Beyond the gaze there is a time zone
of rumored agitation
when you cannot sleep.
You open your eyes quietly to complain.
The caretaker has prepared the shroud.
Smoke is rising on the hills.
No body walks with you,
it is a lone journey, where
centuries throw the dust on your hallowed gifts.
The pyramid of signs, symbols, signatures,
disappear in penultimate flare.
Time to leave the waiting room.
The resurrection will take place now;
of fear; of despair; of foot steps in dark.
I will hear them, holding my breath.
Landscape will change into valley of tears.
Satish Verma, 2 may 2016
Shock The Garden
Symbols are true, because they are there.
Your solemn ache
proud of failure
traces a circle.
Dark and eternal, in all its purity
punishment becomes an award for life.
It is not difficult to know
whether a god exists.
You commit suicide to become a god.
Inoculating falsehood
dying daily unto death was not my pitch.
Your mind breaks the moon in dark,
into hundred bright crumbs.
Each bit becomes a metaphor
To shock the garden.
Satish Verma, 16 december 2015
Faithless Autumn
Bleak landscape
transcends its shoulders,
writhes in pain.
I praise the light for green haloes
and tall figures, which cast
long shadows on parched lips,
my world. The hot sand fills the eyes.
A palpalable seizure shakes the horizon.
I drift like a dry leaf
on the winds of time
the perplexities of sand dunes
and dancing smoke.
What I was striving for all life?
A metaphorical silence
spends the energy of unspoken waking.
The rich decadence of things unhappned.
The occult rules the flesh
and the music of life dies.
The names start trading the tree,
full of flowers, inarticulately
to faithless autumn.
The twigs long for mother shape
the icons will swallow
the melting grief in vain.
Satish Verma, 17 december 2015
Full Stop
I allowed you to tread on me unflinchingly.
My mind on pause,
ungrieved you turn back the clock.
Enough to stun the century,
I take cognisance of divine’s club foot.
I did not believe in self-pity
but I was racing against time
to avoid a jealous path running with me.
Yet I was sleeping on bushes of estranged thorns
without locking my golden age.
Tulips are no more my favourites.
You have to dig deep to plant the bulbs
and wait. When death opens the door for me,
I wanted to be free from any commitment
and ready to walk in, like a foot soldier.
This cosmos is mine, body is for you.
It no more obeys my command.
No more commas are needed,
a final full stop will do.
I am returning back to my home.
Satish Verma, 18 december 2015
Communion
This shapeless fear
gives birth to cosmic vibrations
a prelude to porous thoughts.
Foreign in pain, a face burns
in deep meditation.
Nothing consolates. Hurting
the contents of judgement,
a reflexive existence exonerates
itself from a spiral fall.
Indecisions of sun
to penetrate the fissures of dawn
failed the valley of flowers.
Aloneness was speechless.
The shoots plucked
the sky in flakes. The wind
played at the mercy of trees.
The royal departure
of night sprang a surprise.
The dying seed had
a pride to offer. The sprout.
Nothing is upsetting the garden.
no one is certain of crazy fate.
The sap has a sense of liberation
coming out of conflicts
and chaos. A communion
with space takes place.
Satish Verma, 5 january 2015
BURNS OF HATRED
You put up a price on all
the gifted items.
I was not ready to pay back in dreams.
Wanted to tell you
without telling.
Lips to lips we talk of a stillborn
space which does not crack.
Betraying the anger, words feel sick.
I was trying to decipher the moist
corners of eyes.
I will wait till sunset, when
I will call for the night and take off
my shadows and dropp petals
one by one and come out
in hot sun to receive the
burns of hatred.
It was not easy. Tulips were in full bloom
and my tracks were warm.
There were false shades
all around the garden.
Satish Verma, 1 december 2014
JOTTINGS
there was a tree rose
piercing me and killing me, I thought
it was cheating on me after the sunset
when moon was walking alone
you know what is love
we think different things at the same time
but we are always alone, you do not think,
I think about my god, saying a prayer
to unknow him or keep him alive
he has a debt to pay me back because
I created him what cosmologist would
say was an accident
somebody comes with a strange version
I say, a transgender was also entitled
for his or hers right to love, may be
marrying a deity one day and have free sex
what were you saying about the bait, now
a hapless buffalo will be tied with a rope
put up on a rough terrain to invite the
lion to pounce and make a kill for the benefit of visitors
I am perplexed, do not want to talk,
will watch the moon again, sailing
silently across the blue starry sky
throwing the shadow of dew on my eyes.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 22 august 2014
UN - ME - ING ‘I’
I want to shake them off,
weird thoughts,
like a swarm of bees,
buzzing, whining, aimed at nothing.
Want to write me off?
Loneliness. I
observe the hands of a watch
looks like they are not moving.
Time stands still.
Waits for me to move.
An atavistic ache.
Again I view the world.
Every body is making a sound without bending.
With dreams dead I step into emptiness
barefoot, to feel the earth.
Not going to quit,
free to kill my ghost
I move into sunlight.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 23 november 2014
Outsider
Nothing to look forward
I return my gifts today.
Completely denuded I will spread out in emptiness.
I was nowhere in the circle of untruths,
the pain was slipping inside
and self-denial took its toll.
Nomad in exile
for the kiss of unknown
wandering in whispering streets.
There was no more remorse.
Saffron was the choice of pathos.
A collective suicide of pledges in the sun!
Parallel grief of desert and wind
offers the plundered toast
I drink to my parched lips.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 13 january 2015
DOWNPOUR
Your lips were me.
I wanted a kiss
which never came.
Insertion of a word, was committed
my wings took a flight
for anonymity.
To keep suffering alive
truth was accepting the hurts.
I was not speaking for myself.
Who was me to want a praise
for the custodian of morality?
Something for my name?
I must salute the fallen fingers,
who did not write death –
for my hugging blankness.
Satish Verma, 14 august 2014
THE SOCRATIC EXISTENCE
The evening wind tapped me on the shoulder
gently and said:
“Clouds will talk to you now”
I turned around, looked up at the sky
and drops filled my eyes.
Daily I was drinking hemlock
to understand my ignorance of virtue.
He is gone, but I want to feel the ascending
paralysis, a tincture that is called poison.
For the sake of others, below the faith
lies the pain concealed.
My cup is full. It spills on the soul
and I grieve for the defiled truth.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 21 february 2015
KLEPTOMANIAC
This kitsch
makes you hollow,
kleptomaniac.
You become blind in green
ready to make a dumb leap
from tall cliff.
Contempt for climactic throats.
The man walks on water
to meet death in icebox.
Pink torch like royal command signals,
black white moon enters a sober cloud
beyond the vibrations.
Now was the chance to kill
the light, fixing the graves.
One day the laughter was alive.
Satish Verma, 13 august 2014
THE FINALE
Sometimes horizon roams with moon
I pluck the stars
night drizzles from the dark clouds.
A shadow falls on the door
without struggle or rumor
I know he has come, my guest
the survivor of genocide.
He has come a long way
a message on his parched lips
he rubs hands.
Inferno he says. Holocaust he
murmurs. It is here again,
whole world is under siege.
He tells me, do something for the grass.
Ask your god to come back from domes.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 12 september 2014
IN THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE
I tossed back the hot questions
before searching the answer.
Flaming torso of a limbless man
was seeking a place to rest his soul.
I inhale the death’s pungent odour
so opiating and so brutal.
Burning train chokes the windows
calmly, billowing the ebony smoke.
Cries mingled with whistling men,
haggarded infants were stupefied.
Grass was their pillow and stone
was the bed.
Courage was needed to write a poem
to fill the vast emptiness of a long night
without moon, when human torches
were throwing the light.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 18 september 2014
TANTALUS
Tonight a dark force enters my room
I will play with planets to decide
the course of my destiny.
A future has been tied to my past.
Such pain, strange exorcism, the evil spirit
stains the bed.
When I squeeze the eyes
fog deepens.
It hides the treasure of subtle creation.
Every thing is turning into black energy
I stop thinking.
A pretention of kindness, and monumental grace play
to stop the suicide after loss of
standing harvest.
The hope has been abducted
for a ransom of a child.
There is rape of a classical painting.
Corridors of power resound with promises
styles smashed, seeds thrown
randomly on the land of guilt.
We will wait for the showers to come.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 31 october 2014
TH REALITY SHOW
Tell me how to tell you about a flat
robotic voice,
asking for euthanasia,
a rite of passage for ceremony of death.
He said, he preferred lethal injection
to noose. But it should be painless,
and there should be no leakage of pain
on face. Mercy it be.
This was not a stage show.
No mummer was performing.
Sitting in lotus position
inviting the inevitable. Be my destiny,
my end.
A terminal prayer of infant dream,
which could not find words,
worth any weakness.
Going separately on different routes,
meeting accidently at home
two things were quarreling with dark
quietly.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 31 july 2014
BLAST
In a pool of blood
a face swims.
Under the boulders
there is a muffled scream.
Your private god was not there.
The space is littered with death-snacks.
Births a bloom of limbs,
stained shirts,
twisted wheels.
Dam of tears had a breach.
Stampede of legs –
abandoning the footwears.
Faces disappearing in smoke, confusion.
Road is deserted. A white pigeon lies dead
on his back, slicing the air.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 31 december 2018
Revised Version
A damp moon
staggers across the sky.
I will find my balance now.
*
Meditating on
the words and meaning,
I read your face.
*
Quasi-intelligent,
half-man, half-beast,
the new species.
Satish Verma, 15 may 2019
After The Snow Storm
It tumbles down. The real.
Heels start hurting.
Once upon a night, there
was a red moon, which used to hang
on your head and I
would watch something beyond.
No outburst of profanity
will take place, when you were
dissecting a triangle―
of rainbows. I will not
assemble the waist of a tall tree
after the fruit fall.
Gone with the snow, my
temple, my god. I am now
waiting for the looters of rings.
Satish Verma, 23 june 2019
Resemblance
It bends― the chastity―
the illicit vows. O, let me
become an artisan. I will
ensue― a new harvest of sandalwood.
Don’t light the joss sticks.
There is no abstract presence―
of him. Nobody knows―
you, better than me.
Search the―
magnum opus and you will
find that― man has failed…
to clear the debris of the Fort.
Strange happenings, still
take place. Grass is still green …
in solitude, a poem
takes birth.
Satish Verma, 11 january 2019
Economics
Revisiting my lust, in
beyond borders;
I want to write your
name in cursive script.
Forked, when I pick up
the undiluted hemlock
from your eyes. How would
you like to become a game changer?
A shirtless moon walks
with me on empty stomach
to scrap the night from
the exuberant trees.
Conversion factor comes
into force, unusing the nector.
I will still say my prayers
to seek nothing.
Satish Verma, 25 november 2018
Streaking Alone
Like sly coyotes
you move around
the fireballs. You switch off
the earthly lights. They are
now oranges. Presently
a broker will sell the wounds
of the moon.
Why did you feel sad of something
which was unsaid? A thousand
and one words will speak
when the poem would be brought
dead. You are not here
not in the nakedness of lies, when
something glitters which was not yellow.
The twilight now settles
in your eyes. Moon refuses to
plunge into darkness.
Satish Verma, 22 july 2019
The Rarest Thing
The night watchman
has become an etcher.
The stoning of the shirt
must stop. These moments were the
real sinners/beating the moon.
A simple story becomes an epic.
The belly buttons start
stammering. Meaning did not take a bath.
Canaries have gone on a strike.
They will not sing on the edge of night.
An oil painting walks out of the canvas―
to become a parable.
The creator of this art
was done.
Satish Verma, 5 august 2019
It Was Distressing
The red dot was sinking
to smear the lake. It was
in soft focus, the waning light.
You want to bury
the attachment, on the bank.
Let the waves wash away―
the footprints. The
clan was in great distress.
On ventilator, the icon was not dying.
Innocence goes on the block
I will not get a fair deal
from the silence of the stone.
The disk tumbles
into obscurity. Who will
bring peace to the withering art?
Satish Verma, 6 august 2019
About Unhappenings
Taking refuge behind the
solemn words, you speak loudly.
It rattles you, when you―
hear, it was the world's end.
I have not yet spoken to you
about the happenings, which never happened.
You want to slingshot the
malignancy without your remedy.
Illegible was the writing
on the parchment. I must dig up the ruins.
Matter of instinct, when you start
washing your hands and spitting unendingly.
Satish Verma, 7 august 2019
It Was Not Vicious
Digging deep into
the body of moment, you have
to find out the roots/of dopamine―
blend of dopa and amine,
circulating the gossip. It was
a prelude before a personal take―
into the consciousness of guilt.
Do you need to bring in
the demigods and tree nymphs―
for fertility? The arboreal pain
sends the apology of the shade.
There was no need of any limbs to
walk. Standing on the brink,
you can reclaim the pyramids.
The precocity of non-existence
appears, when you start confronting
the blue lake of tiny eyes.
Satish Verma, 8 august 2019
Vendetta
Brown eyes:
little things―
I ask from you.
This is the holy land,
you can walk, without
offering anything.
I will not surrender
an alter ego
for a price.
The walls scoop
the shadows
for future skin.
A small pilgrimage
for the
dying god.
It hurts when
my lips will not touch
the flame.
Satish Verma, 9 august 2019
Blood Stained
For a long time
I will look at you
to find my image.
In the grainy morn―
the frivolity,
dithers.
Thrown from the roof
a cluster of flowers
for vanity.
Latest comments:
16 may 2024
jeśli tylko
słońce w płynie..
15 may 2024
Weronika
Za jeszcze jeden rejs!
14 may 2024
violetta
Mam takie oko :)
14 may 2024
Jaga
Zwierzęta upodobniły się do koloru otoczenia
14 may 2024
To naturalny suchy i pustynny klimat. I tam są
14 may 2024
Klimat taki, że nie był i raczej nie będzie,
12 may 2024
Melancthe
Kajzerki są przereklamowane ;)
11 may 2024
kb
wielki wypas - był albo może będzie. kto wie...
11 may 2024
sama prawda z tym myśleniem i psoceniem ale
11 may 2024
zastanowiło mnie czy owe cenienie kajzerek wynika
11 may 2024
skomponowane kolorystycznie..
11 may 2024
To co te kozy dziobią i dlaczego? Co na to aktywiści?
16 may 2024
wiesiek
16 may 2024
Satish Verma
15 may 2024
wiesiek
15 may 2024
Jaga
15 may 2024
Satish Verma
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